Best 31 quotes in «saturday quotes» category

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    It's hard to nap on Saturday or the weekends.

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    I'd like to do 'Saturday Night Live.'

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    I enjoy Saturday night racing.

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    If you can survive 'Saturday Night Live,' then you're good as far as show business is concerned.

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    If you can't be bothered to work on Saturday, don't bother to come in on Sunday.

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    If you want a neat wife, choose her on a Saturday.

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    I love Saturday morning cartoons. What do you like to do on a Saturday morning?

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    I make the best pancakes you'll ever have! And I claim that title gladly. On Saturdays I make them for everybody.

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    I'm not worried about the weekend, I'm worried about Saturday.

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    I tend to think that there is a sophistication to everything at 'Saturday Night Live,' including the sketches.

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    It's always nerve-wracking when you're hosting "Saturday Night Live." You either sink or swim.

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    I've only got a Saturday job so my weekdays are generally pretty free.

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    I wish I got a lie-in on Saturday mornings but I never do.

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    My work is like my vacation, so in a way every day is like Saturday.

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    Saturday Night Live' was like a university for funny.

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    Saturday morning, you knew what was cool by what was on 'Soul Train.'

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    Saturday Night Live is hitting me on a regular basis again. This is my fourth decade that I've been lampooned on Saturday Night Live

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    Saturday afternoon, although occurring at regular and well-foreseen intervals, always takes this railway by surprise.

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    Honestly, I never really understood the glorification of Fridays & weekends. I don't want to build a life and career, where I spent five days a week waiting for the weekend. No! I want to enjoy my life, and don't wish any weekday away. I want each day to matter to me, in some way, even if it's a small tiny way. I love my life. Everyday. That's the spirit we should convey all around us.

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    When I was on 'Saturday Night Live,' all I did was work.

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    Your Monday is not going to be like Saturday; the emotions are going to be different.

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    Sunday comes after Saturday? Weird.

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    The one thing I could do was voices and impersonations and weird characters, and there was really no call for that, except on Saturday Night Live.

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    Every Saturday we work in the yard, pick up the dog doo, hope that it's hard.

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    Who are taking to the witch burning Saturday night?

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    It was as if each of them sensed vaguely that the Saturday afternoons of youth are few, and precious, and this feeling which neither of them could have defined or described made every moment of this time together too short, too quickly gone, yet clearer and more sharply edged than any other.

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    Every Saturday I read sentences in SPIEGEL that lack clarity.

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    It shouldn't make any difference, but Friday and Saturday nights are the worst. They're the worst because the loneliness is magnified. The best you can do is hope that there is someone else like you out there, but if there is, you will never meet this person because she doesn't get out either. So, you're left with your thoughts, and your thoughts are living people in your brain who call and hang up and lounge around like armed security guards who happen to be beautiful. In between these thoughts, you think about what's going on out there. The girl of your dreams is being ravaged by a man who doesn't have a care in the world. Just to hear her voice would make you happy for a week, but he gets to spend the day and night with her and thinks nothing of it. (…), there are boyfriends and girlfriends, people in love, wide awake. They hang out. They hang out. They hang out. They do nothing worthwhile except each other. Friends, friends, friends. Fiends. Inside jokes. There are so many stupid conversations going on right now. You could be having a meaningful conversation with a taxi driver. You could talk to him about how Travis Bickle's taxi was a metaphor for loneliness. (…) You have a gray tint on your contact lenses. But you have your work. They don't have that. They are cowards. Everyone seems so afraid to be alone. It takes strength to lie there alone and take it. They just want to copulate, and that's their biggest concern of the night. You want a tragedy. An assassination. A massacre. An earthquake. A city falling to the ground. Something to get the people on TV to be on the same page as you.

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    Saturday is birthday cake day. During the week, the panadería is all strong coffee and pan dulce. But on weekends, it's sprinkle cookies and pink cake. By ten or eleven this morning, we'll get the first rush of mothers picking up yellow boxes in between buying balloons and paper streamers. In the back kitchen, my father hums along with the radio as he shapes the pastry rounds of ojos de buey, the centers giving off the smell of orange and coconut. It may be so early the birds haven't even started up yet, but with enough of my mother's coffee and Mariachi Los Camperos, my father is as awake as if it were afternoon. While he fills the bakery cases, my mother does the delicate work of hollowing out the piñata cakes, and when her back is turned, I rake my fingers through the sprinkle canisters. During open hours, most of my work is filling bakery boxes and ringing up customers (when it's busy) or washing dishes and windexing the glass cases (when it's not). But on birthday cake days, we're busy enough that I get to slide sheet cakes from the oven and cover them in pink frosting and tiny round nonpareils, like they're giant circus-animal cookies. I get to press hundreds-and-thousands into the galletas de grajea, the round, rainbow-sprinkle-covered cookies that were my favorite when I was five. My mother finishes hollowing two cake halves, fills them with candy- green, yellow, and pink this time- and puts them back together. Her piñatas are half our Saturday cake orders, both birthday girls and grandfathers delighting at the moment of seeing M&M's or gummy worms spill out. She covers them with sugar-paste ruffles or coconut to look like the tiny paper flags on a piñata, or frosting and a million rainbow sprinkles.

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    Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody.

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    By the time I would have graduated, at 22, I was a writer and featured performer on Saturday Night Live.